All By Myself
by leave your sanity at the door
Summary: 07/26: Jackson. Lisa. A late night phone call. It's hot in here! One shot, pretty much PWP. Rated M for all the obvious reasons.


**Author's note**

I've been writing this alongside my 3 part story. I wanted something purely PWP, exploring the less 'serious' side of Jackson and Lisa's relationship. Just a fun little piece of smutty smut smut, with no history to it.

**I do not own Red Eye or the characters depicted therein. Copyright Wes Craven, Carl Ellsworth et al.**

* * *

Just gone 1am and she had just settled into bed when her cell phone rang. She rolled over to face her bedside table and picked up the device, frowning as she saw that the caller ID was concealed. Probably some idiot playing a prank, she thought, but decided to pick up anyway just in case she may have happened to be wrong.

"Hello?" she said, somewhat groggily.

"Liiiiisa..." cooed a familiar voice.

Her heart leapt, a smile breaking out upon her face as she remembered crudely scribbling a message on his forearm with a purple Sharpie at the end of their last encounter, telling him 'never stop surprising me'. She hadn't expected him to take it literally, let alone for it to be the very next night.

She should be pissed at him for calling at this hour, should refuse to speak with him.

So much for should.

She loved it, and she knew it only too well.

He'd already got her, with one word alone. All of a sudden, she didn't feel so sleepy.

"Mmm…what a nice surprise!" she giggled.

"You're not pissed at me for calling you so late?"

On the other end of the line she could make out noises in the background, either from people in the room or a very loud TV.

"Nah. Do you want me to be?"

He laughed.

"Getting me angry turns you on?" she asked.

He laughed again.

It wouldn't have surprised her if that had indeed been his intention.

"Well, sorry, but you failed this time, _Jack_. Unless of course you hang up and don't call me back. Then I'll be pissed."

"But then I'd be predictable."

"Yeah, you would."

"Indeed."

"And then you'd be breaking the habit of a lifetime, and you never know where that may lead."

"Good thing I'm not going to be predictable then isn't it, Leese."

"It is."

"Yes."

They both paused, and then began laughing at the same time.

"So, where are you?" she asked.

"I'm at home. All on my lonesome. Just like you."

"How do you know I'm alone?"

"Because I know you."

Yes, he did. Only too well.

All of a sudden, she found her heart was pounding, so hard that it was audible.

"Listen to this…" she said, placing the handset against her chest for a few moments, "did you hear it?"

"That's pretty damn loud," he replied, obviously pleased. "Wanna hear mine?"

"Yes…"

She heard the coarse ruffling of what had to be him slipping the phone inside his shirt, and then the slightly muffled but steady thud of his own heartbeat. And his, too, was loud. Loud enough almost to feel the warmth of his soft, pale skin through the handset. A shiver of excitement tickled its way down her spine.

"Well, you're certainly in working order," she said, upon hearing him take a drag on a cigarette and blowing against the speaker, "what about the other… part? I mean…that's what you called me for, right? Although in this instance it doesn't make you predictable, because..."

He cut her off with a brusque but strangely soothing "sshh", then said nothing more but instead appeared to then drag the phone down his body. She listened attentively to the smooth brushing against his skin, the ruffling against his shirt, a scraping sound that must have been the metal of his belt, and an even coarser sound that could only represent jeans, and then what was definitely the one handed undoing of a large belt buckle. Despite being pretty much sure of what was coming next, she nonetheless opened her eyes wide upon hearing the unmistakeable sound of his fly being unzipped, followed by a brief fumbling noise, then a few seconds of frantic rubbing against…something that sounded like hard flesh. But, which flesh, she couldn't be sure; knowing him, it could equally as likely have been a more innocent part of his body.

He brought the phone back to his face, and gave a small, adorable cough.

"Please tell me that wasn't a sleeping bag and then your hand or arm or something.."

"Oh, I wouldn't be that cruel," he laughed.

"Promise?"

"Do you want a photo?"

"Seriously?"

"I don't lie to you, Leese."

"But you do joke."

"Fair enough. I'll send it from my other phone, if you can guarantee not to call me on it or share my number or the photo with anyone else."

"Because if I did, you'd never fuck me again?"

"That's right."

"Swear on my life."

"Good girl."

So condescending, that phrase, yet the fact that it was him saying it made a world of difference. Despite initially hating it, in sexual circumstances Jackson's ego had transpired to be an immense turn on. Lisa Reisert had never been one to submit to anyone - except for that one incident which, as the cocky sonofoabitch had stated was "beyond her control" - but something about Jackson made submission desireable. Whilst it worried her to feel this way, the feeling was simply too much of a thrill to tear herself away from.

"OK..here we go…" he said, and then proceeded to hum some indistinguishable tune, ending with a triumphant "ta daaaaah!"

Seconds later, her phone beeped, signalling a text.

"Right," she said, "gimme a minute…"

"Sure."

Upon opening the text, she gasped. He was telling the truth.

Daaayum.

"Did _that_…umm…" she mumbled, once again him having reduced her to a quivering mass of hormones, "did _that_ precede the phone call, or did you…umm…" fuck it, she sounded like a star-struck fangirl. How he must laugh at her expense.

"Doesn't matter. Fact is, I'm hard now."

"Deliciously so…"

"Mmm hmm…" He took another extremely long drag on his cigarette, again blowing the smoke at the speaker. The rush of air crackled against her ears. She thought of his lips; those gorgeous, full lips that had kissed hers, graced her skin, brushed and carressed and sucked and kissed her most intimate area. Lips that had brought her to orgasm.

"Do you…um… need a hand? Can you come over?"

"No, sorry."

"Not if I say please?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Pretty please?"

"I'm not feeling patient enough tonight."

"Wow..you really must be horny.."

"Lisa, I haven't had an orgasm since last night when I was with you. I'm practically chewing my hand off here."

"Barely 24 hours? You call that a long time?"

"For me, yes."

The thought of him all hot and bothered, so desperately horny and at the mercy of his desires, racketed up her arousal another notch.

"No wonder you're so hard. And by the way I am officially in awe of your libido."

"Hah," he snorted, then took another drag of his cigarette, ""it has its pro's and cons. Anyway, now your turn, Leese."

"Eh?"

"Are you wet?"

"You_ know _I am."

And how she knew it too. The sodden patch between her legs, soaking into her pyjama pants, was testament to that. Foot on the arousal accelerator and she had gone from 0-100 in under 5 minutes, thanks to him.

"Then prove it."

"Oh… I don't have another phone."

"Well take the photo and I'll call you back after I get it."

He hung up immediately.

She rolled her eyes, mumbling "yes Sir", then turned on the table lamp, retrieved the biro and notepad that she always kept next to her clock (although until tonight they had never even come in useful) and took down his number. She pulled off her pyjama pants, then with one hand parted her labia to reveal her pussy's moist, pink interior, and with the camera in the other hand, attempted to get a good shot.

First time lucky, which was a rare thing on her part.

"_Can I trust YOU not to show this to anyone?"_ she wrote underneath, then put in his number and sent the photo.

Her phone rang almost instantly – with-held number again – and she picked up with a joyful greeting.

"Nice view," he said, "very nice. And you know you can trust me."

"Our secret?"

"Our secret."

To be honest, however, it didn't bother her a great deal whether he decided to share it or not - men were men after all, and she accepted that – nevertheless she liked at least to believe in secrets, and what was more, sharing secrets with_ him_. So long as she didn't find out for certain that he had shared the photo, she would be content.

She heard him take a deep breath. Not a drag of nicotine; a drug of another sort, all natural.

"Now," he continued, "I want your fingers inside you, right on your g-spot."

"How many?"

"As many as you feel comfortable. Do it."

Oh, how she loved being at his command.

She followed his instruction, inserting the middle and ring finger of her left hand up inside herself and positioning the tips against the thickened area of her front vaginal wall. As always, she was hit by the need to pee, causing her to squirm momentarily and emit a small moan.

"Right, now start rubbing, and talk to me."

"I…I don't know what to say… I've never done this before.."

"Really?"

"Yeah…I..You're my baptism of fire in this respect."

"Baptism of fire, I like that. Talk to me about fire, Leese."

"Is your hand where I think it is?"

"I don't wanna hear redundant questions. Start rubbing and tell me about fire."

Redundant questions, hah. She laughed. She wanted to tell him how much she adored his little ways, how he got her, how he had her right where he wanted her, how addicted to him she was irrespective of everything else.

She began rubbing.

"Fire is…well, it's… it's hot…fascinating…. beautiful… scary… deadly…."

She paused, noting the deepening of his breath; the thought of him pleasuring himself to her voice and a photo of her pussy creating a gorgeous mental picture. Despite having no idea how he masturbated, she imagined that, irrespective of horniness, he still probably liked a good long crescendo. She pictured his fingers trailing delicately up and down his erection then rubbing his thumb over the head, teasing himself, just as she had done last night in the passenger seat as he was driving.

"Go on…"

…and then, squeezing the tip hard, then excruciatingly slowly moving his hand upwards until it had left his cock completely.

"Fire is like the other elements. It can be a force for good and bad. It can both heal and destroy. And it's…it's enticing because it looks so amazing, yet it's so dangerous. You can only get so close to it…can only enjoy it so much before it turns harmful or even deadly.…"

The sensation had already moved on from a needing to pee one to something that was starting to feel good. But it would feel better still if it was _his_ fingers inside her. The man really did have some skill, which he didn't hesitate in showing off.

"When I think of fire," he said, followed by another deep, almost trembling breath, "I think orange, red, molten gold, electric blue. I think intense heat and unbridled power. I think beauty and destruction."

"Yes, exactly. Exactly…"

Because beauty could be equally as destructive as it was creative, as his effect on her proved. He had wrecked her life beyond repair, because, insane as it was, she had allowed him to. When in his company, she was filled with a sense of wanting to just...let herself go. Let herself be vulnerable, be _his_, at his mercy, when at any given moment he had the power to destroy her if he wished it. It was such a dangerous game, and in the back of her mind she was always terrified of when and how it could end.

"Mmm hmm.." It was half an agreement, half a moan of pleasure. "And, let me tell you something else about fire..."

"Yes?"

….gripping the tip in a fist and then increasing and decreasing the pressure in a series of rhythmic contractions, like an undulating current. He had moaned out loud then, and she had worried for their safety as he momentarily – and deliberately, she had found out later - lost control of the car, just as they had been going through a far from empty tunnel.

"Here's a makeshift scientific explanation for you…"

She nearly guffawed; only _he_ could make science sexy.

"…Fire consists of oxygen, fuel and heat. It is characterized by flame – it _is_ flame - and flame is nothing more than a body of incandescent gas. It is not, as we are often mislead to believe, pure energy. Lightning is pure energy, fire isn't. And did you know that fire, like the other elements, is affected by gravity? This is because gas has mass. Flame is shaped by convection, which is a function of gravity; in lamen's terms, it means that hot air rises..."

She could just drift off, listening to that soothing, sultry voice of his, irrespective of the content of whatever he was saying. He could be reading out a groceries list for all she cared.

"…However, in environments of low or zero gravity – a space shuttle, for example - fire looks completely different, due to having nothing to cause the heat to rise, and the fire has difficulty in obtaining a supply of oxygen. It's blue, and in order to obtain oxygen, the combusting gasses have to diffuse outward. But as its area grows in size, more heat is lost through radiation. If enough heat is lost the burning material will be cooled below its ignition temperature, and the fire will distinguish itself. This usually doesn't happen on the earth because air is drawn in fast enough to supply the fuel." A pause to clear his throat, and then, "So, that was your science lesson for the day. If you were paying attention, that is?"

"I'm a good student, Mr. Rippner."

OK, so that was a lie.

"Oh, you are? Well then, what did I say?"

Oh shit… Could she recall anything? She had more or less lost herself in the hypnotic timbre of his voice, coupled with the thought of him as an actual science teacher, standing in front of a white board in a lab coat and goggles... and nothing underneath.

_*Oh, give the stupid girl detention, Mr. Rippner, Sir. Lock me in your lab with you, and don't let me leave till I can recite the periodic table from memory.*_

"You said….uhh….you said.. In space it expands outwards…But on earth… umm.. Air…fuel…"

It was starting to feel very good…

She moaned aloud.

He laughed, and in her mind she saw the bubbles in a glass of champagne.

"You're soaking now, aren't you?"

"Yes…"

"Completely soaking."

"Yes..."

"Dripping wet."

Dear God, the way he enunciated those last two words..it nearly blew her mind.

"I wish you could hold on…so that you could come over and lick my fingers."

"Another time, sweet girl…" he cooed, followed by a deep, heavy breath, and another trembling exhalation.

She imagined him now with the thumb and index finger of his right hand forming a ring around his cock, as if he were holding a plectrum, and gliding up and down as if playing a guitar in slow motion.

"Jackson… Please tell me what your hand's doing. You know what mine's doing."

"You can see for yourself later, if you play your cards right."

"What…what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means quit asking questions and talk to me about fire."

"Then tell me…" she persisted, more in desperation than the deliberate desire to incur any wrath, "are you close already? Because I…"

"Ask me that again and I'll hang up."

Uh oh. He meant business.

"OK. Sorry…I…"

"And if you're close, slow down. I don't want you to cum just yet."

"O…kay…"

She did as she was told. She would have to keep a conscious check on her fingers, because he excited her to such an extent that losing control from the get go was all too easy.

She recalled the events of last night. He had kidnapped her after she finished work, literally grabbing her from behind as she had stepped out into the street, clamping her wrists in handcuffs, tying a gag around her mouth, then dragging her back into the car park and throwing her into the back seat of his car. No-one had heard her muffled screams – or at least, if they did, no-one dared come to her rescue – which turned out to be something for which she found herself extremely fortunate, upon managing to sit up and get a good look at her captor.

Making eye contact with her via the rear view mirror, he had then pulled over by the side of the busy road, and in a feat of extreme bodily manouevering that he made look effortless, had prized himself from the driver's seat onto the back seat and then undone her handcuffs and gag.

"Well," he had said nonchalantly, "unconventional greetings and all that."

She had glared at him, but, met with such an adorably childlike and innocent expression, had been unable to maintain her annoyance for long. He'd really had her going there, the bastard. Yes, she adored him, absolutely; the craziness that he was and the mindfuck games that he loved to play.

They had gone driving around the city at night, listening to electro and pleasuring each other manually, the very real prospect of being seen by anyone intensely thrilling to both of them. It had been her hand that strayed first, and fortunately he had made no attempt to stop her. She had delighted upon again finding him without underwear, but it had truly been her first time to actually see and feel him make the transition from flaccid to erect, right there in her hand. She loved the sensation of his cock against her palms and fingertips; the smooth and shiny nature of the glans, the heat of his flesh, the feeling of tightened skin over hardened muscle full of pulsing blood.

Whist driving on a long stretch of straight road, knowing that he could safely keep looking over at her, to further excite him she had undone her own pants and had lubricated her hand by rubbing it between her now thoroughly moistened labia, moaning as she did so. He had grinned at her; a cute, mischievous glint in those intoxicating, glacial blue eyes. No-one had eyes like him. No-one. And few could use their eyes in the way that he did.

Having always wanted to see him climax, this time she had kept her stimulation entirely manual, and, masturbating him with her left hand, had moaned alongside him as the product of that stimulation spurted out into her waiting right land. Thick, ropey cum that she didn't hesitate to lick off her palm… Despite never having been overly keen on the taste of semen, his hadn't turned out to be exactly unpleasant; and even if it had, the taste would have been bearable only for his pleased reaction to watch her consume it.

"All gone," she had said, upon finally licking her hand clean, to which he had grabbed her hand and gave the palm a final lick himself.

It had then been his turn to masturbate her clitorally, which he had managed to do seemingly effortlessly as he drove.

Once fully away from the sprawling city, he had parked by the side of the road. It was gone 2am and the road was less crowded here, but numerous vehicles were still racing by, able to catch a glimpse of the proceedings. But, neither he nor she had cared. It had been straight onto the back seat and into another intense sex session; devouring one another in a raging storm of passion. Heat, sweat, desire, lust, need, abandon. She had laughed out loud at his practicality as afterwards he had retrieved a huge towel from the trunk and had gone about cleaning up the wetness. He had come prepared, obviously. Despite his acts seeming random and impulsive, they were most likely, meticulously planned out. He 'managed' their encounters like he did his work; as if she were still, in effect, his mark. It thrilled her.

They had then laid back down on the seat and ended the session with an extended period of after-play; what must have been over half an hour of sweet, delicate kissing and caressing. And that was yet another thing she adored about him; the side of him that cherished affection and tenderness, that could make her believe in love if only whilst the act lasted.

It had been her idea to write on him, after he'd randomly commented that he had a pseudo Pillow Book fetish; "I like to be written on," he had said, "the skin is a canvas, after all."

He blew another puff of smoke against the phone.

"Forget the science lesson," he said, "What else can _you_ say about fire?"

"It…um… it melts some things… Chocolate…ice…wax. It turns solid into liquid. Hey, did you…um… did you ever think about chocolate candles? You know..wax – well, wax made of chocolate – dripping down the side of the candle shaft…Just like…"

She heard a sharp intake on breath on his end of the line, possibly a gasp, she couldn't be sure.

"And," she continued, noting that her own breathing was becoming increasingly more laboured, "in close contact…. but at a safe enough distance away…. fire makes…. It makes humans perspire."

"Lights low, a burning hearth, a massive fluffy rug, naked skin…" he said seductively, his voice having suddenly become somewhat breathless (although to be fair, not nearly as affected as her own). She wished to God that she were there to witness him with her own eyes; to watch his hand dancing rhythmically up, down and around his firm cock; to see the rise and fall of his chest, his eyes half closed; to fixate on his lips, whether in a blissful smile, a vain pout, or a semi-snarl with his teeth gritted.

"Romance… But is that not…too…conventional…for you?"

"Hell no, Leese. There are some conventional things that just can't be beat. Romance by the fire is one. The missionary position is another… Nowadays many people don't want to give the missionary position a chance. They say it's too old fashioned, too normal, blah blah blah. The thing is, however, is that it's the easiest way for a woman to orgasm clitorally during penetrative sex… especially if she's shaved, like you. You get your pubic bone rocking against hers, and she's already on the way."

"I love it when you do me like that…"

"_I_ love it when I do you like that."

Talking so frankly about sex, in such an uninhibited way, with that voice, nearly made her lose control , despite having slowed down her internal massage. She couldn't answer him coherently – didn't think she could find the words any more – now capable only of moaning his name.

"Please…please.." she finally, after much mental exertion, managed to pant, "stop it. Because I can't…I don't think I can…"

"It's OK," he replied, taking a slow, deep, breath, after which she immediately cut him off by asking breathlessly if he was close now. "Yes, Leese.." he replied calmly, "I'm close. Far sooner than I thought too."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be. I underestimated just how horny I was tonight…how crazy you'd drive me."

God…did he mean that?

"And it's so thrilling isn't it…" she managed, not knowing how she was suddenly capable of coherent speech despite her rapidly encroaching orgasm, "…for both of us…to know that I'm…losing my virginity, in this way, to you… Do you agree?"

"Completely.…"

"Are you really close?"

"Really fucking close."

"Me too…"

Her heart was going mad. It was so strong and powerful now that it wouldn't have surprised her if he could hear it too. She tried to imagine how he looked now; eyes closed, back arched up off the couch and hand tugging up and down furiously, so wrapped up in his own pleasure that he couldn't control himself not for love nor money.

"When you climax, Leese…" he continued, pausing to catch his breath, "it's like ripples, like waves, like a resounding echo… but rapid and spasmodic. It feels as if you're trying to take me over the edge via some sort of…electric shock. It's suffocating…almost too much to bear… And visually, to see you climax vaginally, when you're gushing all over me, your sweet water…"

"I can't cope…"

"Then cum. Cum now."

Dear God… That was it. She tumbled over, crying out as the orgasm struck her, brutally blasting through her like a bolt of lightning, its exit wound a gushing fountain from her urethra. And, to her absolute joy, at the same time she heard him gasp out loud, then moan repeatedly "fuck yes… fuck yes… fuck yes…mmmhhh.."

They climaxed together, no different than if they had been side by side, followed by combined panting that came across significantly louder over the phone.

"Oh," she sighed, after the world stopped spinning, "look what you went and did, you naughty teacher manager assassin person you. Your extra-curricular activity got my sheets saturated."

"Well excuse me, Ms. dirty student hotel manager, thanks to you this shirt's gonna have to go straight in the wash, and I wasn't planning on doing any washing tonight."

"You could have taken it off."

"Knock knock, I had more important things on my mind, thank you very much!"

"Not always so practical then."

"Not when there are more pressing matters. Anyway, are you tired?"

"Not anymore… Why?"

"Still want me to come over?"

"Really? I mean…yes, yes I do."

"Cos I changed my mind about not being bothered."

"Yay for changing your mind."

"Great. I'll be there in about 45 minutes."

Click.

Unconventional greetings, and all that. Yeah.

* * *

**The text below until the disclaimer is a response to a review. FEEL FREE TO SKIP IT!**

They say the criminal always returns to the scene of the crime, so here's a response to a guest reviewer by the name of 'Huh', who thinks this fic is "**stupif** and unrealistic". Obviously so incensed was the faceless Huh that she (I assume most readers of Red Eye fics are female) couldn't type straight. Now, normally I don't feed the trolls, but in this instance I felt compelled to. _Compelled_, Huh. Because you made me think. You see, Huh, this place is called **f-a-n f-i-c-t-i-o-n** dot net. There's no 'canon' in that name. You've got people here writing Red Eye /Snakes on a Plane crossovers. You've got Joe Reisert dying. You've got Jackson x Cynthia. You've got Jackson and Lisa involved in conspiracy theories, kidnap, bondage, S&M, marriage and even kids. Can't say that any of those appeal to me (well, except the Snakes and S&M), or that they strike me as particularly realistic, but I respect the authors' decision to write them. Why? Because fanfic is all about having fun, and moreover, creating the impossible. A character being slightly OOC, or events unfolding in a non-canonical way, in my subjective opinion doesn't detract from the fun. After all, if were to abide by all the rules according to the original movies/books/comics/etc most of the fics here wouldn't be written. In fact, most of this website wouldn't even exist.

Fair enough, everyone has their limits and there's only so much OOC one can take. But in fact, I don't think my portrayal of these characters strays too far from the truth, if they were to get into any sort of 'romantic' relationship. Listen to the DVD commentary; Jackson was very attracted to Lisa, and she to him, even if they did end up hating each other (and even then there was still a lingering attraction, more on his part than hers though, and he certainly ended up with a bedgrudging respect for her). Wes Craven said in an interview that if a sequel were to take place, it would be a great idea to have them starting off hating each other but ending up working as a tight-spun team. Movie-wise, cheesy at it may be, I think that would have worked. It's good escapist fiction. So who's to say this fic here doesn't take place after [the sequel that never was]? Is it so far fetched to believe that, if Lisa ever ended up on Jackson's side, as it were, that it wouldn't re-ignite some of that original attraction?

Besides, this is PWP. Do you know what that stands for? If not, here's a heads up for you: Plot? What plot? or Pr0n Without Plot. PWP is by definition hardly the epitome of realism. Why? Because people crave excitement, and often excitement involves an element of fantasy. But still... Obviously, Huh, you've never had phone sex, let alone roleplayed during phone sex. Have you never been in that stage of a relationship where you're crazy in lust with someone and sometimes even just hearing their voice turns you on? It might not be sustainable but it can happen.

Let me ask you something else about realism, Huh; how realistic is it to accurately stab someone in the windpipe with a pen? Not very. How realistic is it that both Lisa and Jackson got through security on the way out, in their current states? How about a group of about 10 people all escaping a hotel room mere seconds before its bombed, and none of them get hurt? How about someone just happening to leave their car unlocked with the keys in the door? How realistic is it that a woman can get thrown over a bannister and down a flight of stairs and escape with barely a scratch, when previously she was knocked out with a headbutt? How realistic is it to have your Dad wake up and save you, precisely at the moment you're going to be killed? And how about going straight back to your workplace after the entire event, when in fact the police would be obliged to take you in for questioning? NOT VERY. But you know what? IT'S FICTION. With fiction, you're allowed to take those liberties. I rest my case.


End file.
